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I don't encourage idle dreams

Of poison, or of ropes ;
I cannot dine on airy schemes,

I cannot sup on hopes !
Now milk I own is very fine,

Just foaming from the cow;
But yet, I want my pint of wine-

I'm not a lover now !

When Laura sings young hearts away,

I'm deafer than the deep; When Leonora goes to play,

I sometimes go to sleep ;
When Mary draws her white gloves out,

I never dance, I vow-
Too hot to kick one's heels about !

I'm not a lover now !

I'm busy with the State affairs,

I prate of Pitt and Fox!
I ask the price of railroad shares,

I watch the turn of stocks.
And this is life--no verdure blooms

Upon the withered bough;
I save a fortune in perfumes

I'm not a lover now !

I may be yet what others are,

A boudoir's babbling fool;
The flattered star of bench and bar,

A party's chief or tool.

Come shower or sunshine-hope or fear,

The palace or the plough,
My heart and lute are broken here-
I'm not a lover now!
Lady, the mist is on my sight,

The chill is on my brow,
My day is night, my bloom is blight,

I'm not a lover now !



TWELVE years ago I made a mock

Of filthy trades and traffics :
I wondered what they meant by stock;

I wrote delightful sapphics:
I knew the streets of Rome and Troy,

I supp'd with fates and furies;
Twelve years ago I was a boy,

A happy boy, at Drury's.

Twelve years ago !-how many a thought

Of faded paints and pleasures
Those whispered syllables have brought

From memory's hoarded treasures !
The fields, the forms, the beasts, the books,

The glories and disgraces,
The voices of dear friends, the looks

Of old familiar faces.

Where are my friends ?-I am alone,

No playmate shares my beaker-
Some lie beneath the church-yard stone,

And some before the Speaker ;

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And some compose a tragedy,

And some compose a rondo ; And some draw sword for liberty,

And some draw pleas for John Doe.

Tom Mill was used to blacken eyes,

Without the fear of sessions ; Charles Medler loath'd false quantities,

As much as false professions, Now Mill keeps order in the land,

A magistrate pedantic; And Medler's feet


unscann'd, Beneath the wide Atlantic.

Wild Nick, whose oaths made such a din,

Does Dr. Martext's duty;
And Mullion, with that monstrous chin,

Is married to a beauty ;
And Darrel studies, week by week,

His Mant and not his Manton ;
And Ball, who was but poor at Greek,

Is very rich at Canton.

And I am eight-and-twenty now

The world's cold chain has bound me; And darker shades are on my brow,

And sadder scenes around me :
In Parliament I fill my seat,

With many other noodles;
And lay my head in Germyn-street,

And sip my hock at Doodle's.

But often when the cares of life

Have set my temples aching, When visions haunt me of a wife,

When duns await my waking,
When Lady Jane is in a pet,

Or Hobby in a hurry,
When Captain Hazard wins a bet,

Or Beaulieu spoils a curry :

For hours and hours, I think and talk

Of each remember'd hobby;
I long to lounge in Poet's Walk-

To shiver in the lobby;
I wish that I could run away

From house and court, and levee,
Where bearded men appear to-day,

Just Eton boys, grown heavy;

That I could bask in childhood's sun,

And dance o'er childhood's roses ; And find huge wealth in one pound one,

Vast wit and broken noses;
And pray Sir Giles at Datchet Lane,

And call the milk-maids Houris ;
That I could be a boy again-

A happy boy at Drury's !

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